random Writing

My friends and I were all sitting together, on the floor, with empty hands and sunken heads, observing nothing more than the carpet and an occasional glance in the direction of a faceless throat's growl. My fingers, intertwined within each other, implied a sense of anxiety, though I assure you I was just deep in thought.I was thinking, why are we literally just siting here, doing nothing? The minutes are strolling by, dragging us through the night, and we are just letting ourselves succumb. I mean, it's not something new, to be perfectly honest. I'm used to being in a group of people and muttering nothing. There are jokes, there are scuffs, there may be confined conversation limited to never longer than a couple minutes-- but, this night, it just didn't feel right that we weren't taking advantage of the obligation-free time.

But then everything changed. The whole dynamic of the group was somehow enhanced, as if we were just infused with adrenaline. We were all aware that something exciting was going to happen, though we weren't entirely sure what, but, regardless, the mood jumped from bland to overly-seasoned.

I heard word of a stand up comedy show at this bar that was having open mic night. It was at that moment I realized this was my chance to get the butts off the floor, in a car, and downtown. So I stood up, indicating I was ready to go, but the others didn't budge. Their eyes spilled interest; a simple whiff of excitement that was limited in duration. But they noticed, they definitely noticed.

Let's do something. I hushed, waiting for a response. I couldn't wait too long though, my feet were already nervously tapping the floor, as if I feared that their interest was just an illusion. But their faces went soft, their eyes brighter, and the tips or their mouths wider.

And then we were in a car. I was sitting on someone I just met-- Matt? John? Not that he was boring or anything, my face was pushed to the floor, with shadowy objects only in sight. There were muffled laughs and other said things, but the conversation wasn't the least memorable (trust me, while your staring at the ground in a super complex, uncomfortable position, on someone whose name you barely know, you just don't remember much).

Climbing out of the car was like freeing a thousand fish from a fish bowl into the sea; it was a miracle. We all jumped, stretching our limbs and getting our blood pumping again. Though it was a sweet relief, the good didn't last for too long-- did I mention it was absolutely and utterly freezing? The cold bit our skin, as if it were a malicious whip, slicing us open with bitter claws. Our groans hushed our feet as we headed in the (what we would figure out in due time) wrong direction.

Finally, we made it. The bar was small, cozy, cute, welcoming- the vibes were incomparable and the people were distinct. Distinct in attire, distinct in shade, and distinct in conversation. We were late, of course, and so we had to walk all the way in the back so that we could cramp in a space probably no larger than the car. Luckily I found a spot next to the bar with an open view of the minuscule stage; the mic was decorated in a flashy veneer, and an array of lights were splattered on the wood.

And so the first act began: a woman got on stage, said her lines, paused as the entire bar erupted with laughter, and departed awkwardly, weaving herself through the clapping. We were off to a good start. Another woman appeared on the stage, but remained silent. Suddenly, her body moved violently, as if she had gone sick. There was a nervous laughter in the crowd- we all thought she was joking. But she kept going, and going, and going. The laughter died down and all waited patiently for her to say something. My friends and I shared ambiguous glances and raised eyebrows-- then, silence. Her lips, inches from the mic and quivering, moved.

A couple mumbles.

Silence.

Something half-coherent.

Silence again.

And that was the act- she ran off stage laughing with extreme joy-- I think she said it was super fun. We were all confused as to whether or not it was an act-- my friends and I still argue both sides; I really thought she was going to throw up on stage.

It was a memorable night with really great comedy, some of which made me laugh so hard I had to grab my stomach. We were their guinea pigs and they were the scientists, seeing what worked and what failed. It was raw, pure, spontaneous- something I'm beyond happy for experiencing.

"You’re gay! You’re gay, you won’t get it!” He shouted. “So? What does being gay have to do with the joke?” I shouted back. “You just…you’re gay so….well…it just won’t make sense.” It was mumbled and it was suppressed; his eyes refused to look at mine. I stared at him, desperately wanting his attention. The silence in the room was unbearable; the tension was dripping from our skin.

I still wonder about that remark. The meaning is unattainable; I speculate on whether or not the comment even makes sense, but I can never pin it down. Gay is a concept, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not either homosexual or heterosexual or this or that, you are simply you. There is no definite conclusion, no single class; sexuality isn’t black and white. Traits and genetics are never homogenous; similar to two snowflakes, no two people are exactly the same. We come in all shapes, sizes, colors, structures-and, interestingly, sexual orientation.

Though I have never been subjected to homophobia, I have, on multiple occasions, heard homophobic comments from peers, family, and friends. However, on the other hand, I’ve never been directly affected by homophobia nor have I heard my friends in the LGBTQ+ community complain about homophobic prejudice against them. So, taking this into consideration, how is this so when homophobia is quite extreme and prevalent in our society? For f***s sake, a fire in New Orleans was purposely started with the intention of murder at UpStaris Lounge, a gay bar. Though this resulted in 32 total deaths, the mainstream media kept quiet about it. Ok, then how can homophobia be common when it not a prevailing news coverage topic? Because homophobia is not only accepted, it is almost always anticipated. Homophobia is something violent too; according to the FBI, there were 1,102 anti-gay hate crimes reported in America in 2013. A previous study done at Yale University in 1986 determined that the majority of LGBTQ+ individuals live in fear of being targeted and harassed because of their sexual orientation. I admit that I also have a subtle yet constant apprehensiveness about my safety. Still, homophobia is not only a social ‘issue’; it has become a political matter and thus indulged into the legal system. Same-sex marriage is banned in 13 states and only legal in 37, and this has not been without an incessant struggle by the LGBTQ+ community. In Namibia, a publishing company by the name of Sister Namibia declared that the Namibia government denied abolishing the 2011 anti-sodomy law that deemed sexual-conduct between two men unlawful while condoning the same activities in a man-woman relationship. This is one of many anti-sodomy laws around the world, all of which are used as means of censoring the LGBTQ+ community and punishing those who label themselves as such. A recent Huffington Post article informed us that Alabama, Florida, Idaho, Kansas, Michigan, Mississippi, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Texas and Utah still have anti-sodomy laws, even though they were decreed as unconstitutional ten years ago. Wait, there’s still hope! There have been numerous court cases against the anti-sodomy laws-most of which were victorious. Plus, we’ve got alliances! All over the nation there are support groups in which people who accept LGBTQ+ people aim to help them with coping, adapting, or dealing with homophobic persecution. An admirable and progressive African-American lesbian group in Philadelphia, known as Dykes Taking Over (DTO), has been created in the face of discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals in the school system. The members have all encountered homophobia, and so they come together to discuss their experiences, form tactics to decrease homophobia’s existence, and raise awareness for LGBTQ+ equality. Another school, in Illinois, has an alliance club that consists of both LGBTQ+ and non-LGBTQ students. With the Prevent School Violence Illinois Act that directly condemns bullying against homosexuals, all of the group members’ perspectives are incorporated in generating strategies against homophobic bullying. There seems to be a divide in reference to sexual orientation in our society: those who are ok with it and those who aren’t. Why is there even a distinction? Sexual orientation should not be equated with negative connotations; again, everyone is different. A study done in 2013 inferred that there was a possible correlation between homophobia, non-physical education, and physical education among university students. The results showed that P.E. students are more likely to be prejudice against gay men and girls with increased notions of social dominance orientation were more likely to have anti-gay bias. Personal belief was not one of the factors examined in the study, which indicates a further need for research on why certain sexual orientations are unacceptable to some and tolerable to others. Yikes, I hate referring to sexual orientation as ‘tolerable’. It perpetuates this idea that homosexuality is unnatural, and that it can only exist because it doesn’t bother people too much.

It is not a debate however; I believe the lack of representation in the mainstream media has somehow diluted its presence in our culture. As a result, there is an ever-ending fight for equal treatment: the LGBTQ+ community cannot obtain full equality until our society accepts it as a social importance rather than a political problem. We are basically repeating history in that it used to be that African Americans were the oppressed, now it’s [also] the LGBTQ+ community. Taking all of this into account, it can imply that the decision makers and the homophobic general public are on one side, while the alliances and the LGBTQ+ individuals are on the other. Although sexual orientations other than heterosexuality have not been affirmed as a ‘bad’ trait/characteristic, the LGBTQ+ community is still trying to prove their worth.

I’m going to repeat it one last time: we are all different! I think it’s silly (and extremely upsetting) that homophobia exists in our culture-I mean, it is a definite example of one of the countless stereotypes against certain attributes that are considered ‘lesser than’ because some person was ‘uncomfortable’ (like really, are we five?). Yes, sexual orientations other than heterosexuality are a minority in this world, but that does not excuse the maltreatment of the LGBTQ+ community. If we were to criminalize everything that made anyone uneasy, video games wouldn’t exist, texting would be illegal, religion would be unheard of, porn would disappear, and we’d all be in jail. So why are we targeting one trait over the others? I advocate that we set our egos aside, and learn to accept people for who they are. Yes, there is no explicit reason for why anti-LGBTQ+ exists, but I’m sure we can all guess that ignorance and self-involvement are two very probably factors.

I'm making the comparison between the future and the dark side of the moon. We both know it's there; yet, we know nothing about it. Unexplored, mysterious, intriguing, frightening- the two should do a tango.I'm not saying that I'm afraid of the future (to the extent of never leaving the safety of my house) or that I have no idea of what's coming my way, but I'm sure that from this analogy, there is an implication of a slight tremor, a slight apprehensiveness. I mean, if someone were to ask me to choose between the two, I'd hesitate at first.The dark side of the moon is vacant, but, isn't space also some lost void hat we kind of know only some stuff about? And that is not to say that it is not interesting; quite the contrary, actually. I'm sure there is something there- even if it's just a piece of space trash or the tip of a comet, it's still extremely fascinating.Which is more, shall I say, indulging? If the dark side of the moon is to be made into some huge ordeal, shouldn't everything that is new to the human eye become one too? The future is definite. Fact. However, we will never presently be in the future.So, if someone demanded I choose between the two, how could I choose? The future is nonexistent and the dark side of the moon is just darkness. There's nothing there, right?!? Perhaps I'm being too vague in my argument, if it's even one at all. I'm simply saying that both the dark side of the moon and the future scare me. There it is: the unknown is terrifying.But it's also extremely intriguing.Being on a cliff, it's scary right? Your heart is pounding and your knees are wobbly and your mind is racing. The thought of jumping off is almost inevitable; you contemplate the feeling of flying and the desire increases. Sometimes you let your mind wander so far, you find yourself at the edge, peering down, down, down.So perhaps I may end this spiel with a certain conclusion: fear is independent of the unknown, but the unknown is not without fear. You see, it is this simple speculation that I am able to appropriately confirm that I'm terrified of the unknown. Absolutely, overtly, extremely scared. But if we can separate the two so that fear is no longer a distraction nor something that discontinues a certain interest, I feel as though the unknown will become something of a different nature; rather, it has the potential to become understood. We are capable of exploring, and thus we shall.We shall get lost. We shall mess up. Yet, we shall learn and improve. The unknown is the unknown until we venture into its clasp. The unknown is scary until we know something about it.So, I suggest we not ignore the fear, but instead take it head on. If we use it to our advantage, as a motivator perhaps, we can become more knowledgeable. And with that, my dear reader, go get lost!

The definition of feminism is as follows: the social, economic, and political equality among the genders and sexes. But it seems that that definition has been altered into something that depicts feminists as angry women who hate men and instead want social, economic, and political dominance above all other genders and sexes (transgender, gender queer, gender fluid- there are more than just two categories). Obviously this new definition is problematic by itself because though it criticizes feminists as power hungry, it actually perpetuates female subordinance in our society.

Feminism does not ostracize all genders and sexes other than women; and just this alone is one of most controversial aspects of feminism. People automatically assume that feminism is limited to the female population because it is labeled as fem-inism. Fem and female and feminine all sound similar, so people are quick to conclude that the theory is associated only with women, and this, unfortunately, is arguably one of the main causes behind the denial of feminism in our culture.

But then again, why are we blaming the word? Ignorance plays an important role here: rather than researching and learning what the correct meaning is, people accept what they see, and what they see is "feminism, fem, feminine, female empowerment! Those are those crazy women, right?" Our society has created this preconceived concept that feminism is a bad thing because of what it sounds like.

So how do we fix this? How do we, feminists, make it apparent to the rest of the wolrd that no, we are not looking for female domination? How do we make it known that feminism is simply a demand for equality? Perhaps we need a new word, because I honestly don't think that people are going to change their minds at this point. And this is not a defeat to the feminist movement; we are not changing the fundamental definition, we are simply changing the negative connotations affiliated with the word.

Equalist. This is the word that I am going to start using when I'm referring to feminist concepts because I am sick and tired of hearing "oh, you hate men," when I refer to myself as a feminist. I mean, calling myself an Equalist is beating them at their own game, right? The word Equalist does not infer any type of gender, sex, power, hatred- it sounds like equal, and that can thus infer equality. Which is what we, the women of this world, want.

We want equal pay. We want an end to catcalling. We want the right to wear the clothes we like, and not worry about being attacked or get classified as a slut or a prude (don't base personalities on appearances). We want to be able to say no, without having the fear of being harmed. We want employers to hire us and rate us because of our work ethic, not because of what we look like. We want to be able to walk down the street at any time of the day, and not worry about getting raped. We want no to mean no.

But we also want men to know that we are fighting for their rights, too. Child custody laws are often more in favor of the woman because women are seen as more maternal. The child should go to the better parent; the decision should not be affected by gender. Drop the idea that male rape victims are 'weak' or 'secretly wanted it'. Nobody wants to get raped-it's really that simple. Get rid of the notion of gendered bisexuality; bisexuality is the interest in BOTH genders, and usually people only see this as a transition phase or someone being greedy. Bisexual men are not gay: they are bisexual. Bisexual women are not only straight women looking for fun; they are bisexual.

Boys can like girl toys and girls can like boy toys- but, still, why must we gender objects? Pink, blue, purple, yellow, orange- these are hues that our eyes perceive as colors, not a way to label someone if they like it or wear it. Men should be able to wear pink without people saying, "wow a man with a pink sweater?!? You're brave." And gendered drinks, like really? A fruity drink is not to be used as a statement of "manliness" or as a way to make fun of people. It's a drink. A drink.

Feminism is for everyone, you see? Gender should never imply characteristic, and neither should it be used to discriminate, demean, or determine one's persona. Yes, gender does exist, but it should not affect what we enjoy, it should not affect how we are perceived in society, and, most importantly, it should not be used to judge out character. But still, the word itself has been changed into something very different of what it is asking for (I was a afraid to write 'demand' because this might be used against me). Misandry is when someone hates men and a feminist wants equal treatment among the sexes, see- there is no correlation between the two. But, regardless, I will refer to myself as an Equalist because I would rather people assume that I'm begging for equal treatment amongst the sexes and genders, instead of having people chastise me for the opposite of what I really want. I want equality, dammit!

My best friend and I enjoy venturing Manhattan- the distinct smells mix together, leaving your nostrils desperate for an answer. The people vary with every detail; their attributes are caught in a seemingly endless motion that keeps the eye engaged and excited for the next painting. And the fashion too- though I don't consider myself an advocate for the intricate design of our exteriors (seriously, I wear a t-shirt and jeans every day), I still enjoy seeing all the different outfits, whether they are complex, colorful, simplistic, edgy, eccentric- the list goes on. What we see is what we tend to accept; yet, with fashion, it seems as though we aren't necessarily capable of deciphering the personality behind the clothing; it's literally just a statement for the day. We can infer, of course, but it's only an assumption. And this is why I love Manhattan; your really never know what you're going to get out of a day's excursion.

But this was Saint Patrick's weekend. Green was prominent in almost every corner, as well as numerous drunks poisoned with the taste of fun. Though the majority of the celebrators were smiling and pouring out of Irish bars, it wasn't uncommon to see the occasional tears or hear a few rather profane comments.My friend and I are not avid drinkers- our decision to come the city was not with the intention of getting plastered, I honestly think we were just bored. Saint Patrick's day wasn't even in our heads until we saw green beads dripping from necks, waiting in the streets, and covering buildings as if attempting to transform into paint. And I am pretty sure that we didn't actually anunciate our awareness of the holiday until our waiter told us about the drink specials.I skipped ahead a few hours; my friend and I somehow managed to get lost in east village, in a very confusing part of town where the roads crisscrossed and the avenues turned into streets. We were looking for a Mexican restaurant on Jane Street, but I had made of the mistake of reading the address incorrectly.

Though I had never been to the restaurant, I tried to assure my friend that we were close- we were, but we were headed in the complete opposite direction. We were looking for 27 Jane Street, when we were supposed to be looking for 57 Jane Street. We found 26 and 28, but we couldn't find 27. It didn't make sense- we combed the sidewalk, peering into windows and scrutinizing the numbers on either side of street. After 15 minutes of aimlessly wandering around, I finally pulled out my phone and, to my utter embarrassment, realized that we were following a pointless path. We laughed, our stomachs growled, and our toes changed their direction.Yes the food was delicious, yes our waiter was fantastic, and yes the dynamic of the restaurant was adorable; but no, I could not stop thinking of 27 Jane Street, or, um, it's nonexistence. How could a place just not be there? Its neighbors were- and might I add that all the numbers where in the right chronological order. It was something I couldn't, and still can't, accept.It is experiences like this one that make me excited for what's to come in the future. We don't really know what will happen, and, in a way, that's both extremely terrifying and delightful because maybe it's just me, but I tend to remember the spontaneous instances more than those that were planned, and I seem to enjoy them more too. We should not go into something with an exact idea of what will happen; if we allow ourselves to go with flow, we are thus freeing ourselves. We we are uninfluenced by the notion of standards; if you expect something to happen a certain way and it doesn't, we're only left with doubt or regret or distress-whatever the emotion may be-. I feel as though it is necessary to have impromptu encounters from time to time because the improvised can lead to such wonderful things.

Don't pay for this movie. Don't, don't, don't spend five (ha, like that's possible in today's economy) or eight or ten or eleven dollars- any amount- on this film. Now I'm not advocating against seeing this movie, I'm just saying that if you spend money on it, trust me, you'll regret it. 50 Shades of Grey, the new film notorious for abuse, money, dominance, and sex, was just released this Valentine's Day. Each of these words are distinct in their own way in regard to the film, so I currently believe that the movie may not be as problematic as the book (I have yet to read the book, actually, and when I finish I'll be sure to write a review).First of all, the amount of abuse in the movie is minimal at best, if not non-existant. In the movie, Grey made it very clear that he didn't want any type of romance or 'relationship title', despite his one exception of having a date night per week, so that he might persuade Steele to sign his contract. This disaallowed any type of abuse because she knew exactly what she was getting herself into: a very strict and limited relationship consisting entirely of a dominant (Grey) and a submissive (Steele). Although she knows the terms, she tries countless times to persuade Grey to be with her, because she admits that she has fallen in love with him. Instead of using this against her, Grey warns her not to fall in love with him. The only outcome of this is an additional attempt by Steele to make him love her.So wait, is Christian Grey is a billionaire? The director definitely emphasizes his wealth with private jets, expensive gifts, and many pristinegrey suits. It may be perceived that Grey uses his money to manipulate Steele- he buys her a new car and takes her into his expensive apartments. The question is, however, is there a point for Grey's affluence other than as a factor of his character? Was his enormous amount of money and the showcasing of it, supposed to be influence Steele's decision? It definitely adds to the plot's setting; but it doesn't seem to have any connection to Steele's choice; she responds to the gifts with a more thankful reaction than a changed mindset.Ahh, power. Some say it's the root of all evil, others simply see it as a part of human nature. In Grey's life, it his escape; he creates power by assigning himself as a dominant and gaining sexual power. Towards the end of the movie, we finally get a hint of why he's that way; his reason, "I was a submissive to an older woman when and I was younger" and "I'm fifty shades of f***d up". This ambiguity can imply one thing or the other; power as a release or power as a need to control.The sex scenes were directed well; the only problem was, unfortunately, neither of the actors looked like they wanted to be there. Nonetheless, the scenes weren't necessarily boring either. It was all consensual and basically followed the cliché romance love-scene formula.Finally, I do not support any form of abuse- and yes, I must make this obvious because I want to make it clear that my reason for seeing 50 Shades of Grey was to formulate my own opinion on it. I've heard good and bad reviews about it and I felt that in order to hold a certain judgement, I had to see the movie myself. My perspective is contrast to the common idea that both the movie and the book promote abusive relationships, because I believe that it does the opposite; in the final scene of the movie, Grey tries reaching out to Steele to compel her to stay. She looks at him, sternly, and boldly declares, "No!". It's empowering; she's finally overcome this dependence on him and is able to free herself. Altogether, the movie was good at giving Steele a voice, and bad because it was painfully boring. The sex scenes were mediocre; again, the actors really did not look like they were enjoying it. Also, there were many pauses in the movie where it seemed as though the writers were just trying to fill up space. Lastly, I'd recommend not payingfor this movie because when you're in a theatre, the immediate and numerous switches from dark to bright quickly make your head ache. So, the last question is: would I encourage someone to see this movie? Probably not. It's dull, it's repetitive, it's awkward, and it still fails to educate viewers on what BDSM actually is. The film only skims the surface of BDSM culture; it's main focus is turning the association between the two characters into a courtship. But if you want a look into a millionaire's exceedingly secretive life, then this is the perfect movie for you (but seriously, you could buy so much food with twelve dollars)!

It was a Saturday morning; the snow was falling and my weather app reported some low temperature with an even lower windchill; yet, I I had a slight feeling of warmth. I thought of the pond with the red roof in the background and the sand under my feet, tickling me with every step. But I wasn't even outside with this memory; I was in my dorm hall. Have you ever smelled something, and thought of something else, as if this scent was associated with some recollection only revealed through a sense? It's not uncommon; we inhale a certain aroma and our minds wander--it's interesting, too, that our interpretations are often different.

It's funny, though, I don't remember the smell itself; I simply remember feeling like I was temporarily placed back in time; I could see the sun shining, I could hear someone slapping the surface. The air was fresh and soft and comforting; it reeked of summer. The day's date is still ambiguous to me, as well as whatever happened before and after this incident. It appeared as a movie, though I was experiencing it firsthand; it was a dream, perhaps. It was too blurry to be reality, and by that I mean there weren't contrasts anymore. All the once perfect lines were now only movements lost in space and without direction. But, the obscurity somehow enhanced the experience; I could feel the edges of my lips rise and my cheeks heat up. Trust me, I felt something--um, I felt it.It was the feeling of paradise; my grandparents' pond was one in which I learned to appreciate the water (though I began swimming in a pool, the pond was, and still is, a much happier experience for me). I couldn't see what was under my feet; the murk and depth suggested monsters, all of which I searched for. This was a place for me to learn how to dive and explore; a pool is simply an enjoyable training session. So, yes, I find it very interesting that I can experience a memory through a smell. It's sporadic too, which is sort of better because I'm easily entertained by impromptu daydreams. It's basically an escape from reality with the promise of return. I just read a text by Raymond William, titled, Television: Technology and Cultural Form, in which he explained his theory of Planned Flow. He believed that in television, there is a scheduled flow of commercial and program; both of which use each other as means of making the viewer want to continue watching for a longer period of time. I've mentioned this author and his ideas because television commercials can be an analogy for my spontaneous daydreams; the breaks in my day help make the course of the day as fluid as possible.

At a very young age, my dad realized that tricking me was easier than it was for other kids. My 'ice-breaker' story is infamous (for some reason, I doubt that, actually). It all started when my dad and I on were our yellow couch in the pit (this was our living room, it was just about a foot and a half deeper than the floor, and yes, I did almost kill myself on the steps multiple times) and I was screaming; he was laughing. Was this situation new to us? No, of course not-- my dad loved pulling my leg when I was a child. He was joking that I had to take a bath in one of our plastic cups, and I interpreted this as reality. I thought to myself, "he must be insane, I mean, he can't really think I'm small enough to fit in one of those!" So, after trying to persuade him that it just wasn't possible, I broke down in tears. I was frustrated-my eyes were red and my cheeks glistened; it was a perfect combination of anxious and upset. My dad, upon noticing that maybe he pushed the joke too far, admitted that, no, I did not have to take a bath in a cup (because yes, I couldn't actually believe that until he assured me it was all going to be all right). "You're so gullible, Sophie!" He mocked; yet, he was definitely trying to cheer me up at this point. And trust me, I already knew what gullible meant--I grew up with a mom that taught you a new vocabulary word every chance she got and a dad that had to define the word for me because he basically used it every day. But then he made one mistake. One, tiny, minuscule remark that I bet he just couldn't keep from spilling out of his mouth. "It's written on your forehead!" I sat there, scrutinizing the comment. I literally sat there, plump and lifeless like a vegetable, on the yellow couch blemished by food and witness to my mom's screaming. "What is?" I wasn't exactly sure what it was he was referring to (I still do this, I just clock out sometimes when someone is talking to me. It's not that I'm oblivious--my mind just wanders). "Gullible, you have the word writt-" He didn't have to finish the sentence; I was already running to the bathroom, crying even more, to check the mirror. TO CHECK THE MIRROR. I believed him. I actually thought that the word 'gullible' had somehow magically appeared on my face. Yes, I looked at my reflection expecting to see the words in bulk. Yup, this is a true story. Very, very true.Is there any significance to this story? I'm gullible, but we've already established that. Was this situation some type of huge ordeal? Nope. Has it scarred me? No, I don't think so. Then what has it done for me? It's given me a good story, that's for sure, but it also taught me that just because someone says something that appears to have a certain credibility to it, does not entail that it is necessarily true. Yes, it was very annoying and it still is today, but I've started to pick up on it (It's taken me almost twenty years to do so, but, nonetheless, learning shouldn't always follow a clock). Hmm, so, go! Go tease your friends, go annoy your family, go say something to your siblings with the sole intention of making them upset--but keep it all in good humor. There is a thin line between joking with someone and being mean to someone. Did my dad ever cross this line? Of course, but he always came back to the right side and apologized--and I know he wasn't purposefully trying to get me angry--it's just that, feelings are easily influenced. Definitely-please, be nice to people.

I've got my laptop, my books, a chocolate milkshake, and procrastination via conversation. Apparently, so does everyone else, give or take food choice. The table in front of me that was just hidden by waving arms, indulged in gossip about the weekend, and smothered with books sits empty now, as if desperately waiting for the next group of people. These tables and chairs have become accustomed to this specific type of interaction: homework that is almost always delayed by chat; two students have just sat down actually, and their lack of books implies that this is just a friendly social gathering.I'm not really a part of this 'social arena', I'm just enjoying the ride. Yes, I do enjoy being incorporated in a lively situation with new people excited about meeting others--but this place, well, it's often divided. Though it is a public sphere; anyone is allowed to grab a table, nibble on something sweet, and converse with friends, it seems as though this isn't the place to say hey to the cute girl (you know who you are) in the corner, wink at the good looking guy in that booth over there (you know who you are too), or introduce yourself to a crowd of suspicious eyes. We all sit collectively; yet, we're all involved in our own worlds.Perhaps it's the food that keeps us from talking with one another. Eh, perhaps not--food never keeps me from speaking, though my mom disapproves of it. So what is it? The school work? I'm not sure--I've been doing work for the past four hours--and I've been talking with my friend for the past six. And I don't see any signs anywhere that say, "you can't sit with us" (I really hope you got that reference). There's just this feeling in my gut that I'm not 'allowed' to go up to anyone new. I feel as though if I do, I'll be interrupting them somehow. And yet, taking this all into consideration, I know that I fall victim to giving off the same sort of 'unwelcoming-vibe'. I'm lost in my own discussion my own drama, my own thing-----. So, I guess I've been asking the wrong question the entire time. I automatically assumed that the people and their social circles were off limits, for the sole reason being 'we dont want you here; we don't know you.' When, really, it all just comes down to respect. I know that people are caught in their personal business, because I am too, so this isn't a setting in which we are divided. It is simply a place of public discourse: we all know that everyone else is busy with their own things, so we don't care to censor ourselves; our individual conversations add to a unified buzz-- the college dining buzz, that is.

My morning routine is automatic; eight minutes and thirty seconds, approximately; and I'm out the door, on my way to the dining hall. I usually wake up before my alarm clock; for some reason my dreams are intervened, as if they're too emotional, and I check my clock. It's almost always an hour before I have to get up, so I smile and roll over. Just moments later I hear the charms; they aren't charming in the slightest, but they control my attention and my movement; within seconds I have both feet on the floor. My entire outfit-socks included, of course-is piled on my chair, in order. After that I put my purple beanie on-well, that's obvious. My backpack has been organized, my teeth are brushed, and I'm sprinting down the hallway. My headphones, once clenched by my fists, are suddenly freed and placed into my ears. I pause, but only momentarily-to turn on my phone and press play. Though I love music, I skip at least three songs before choosing one. I don't know how to explain it, I guess I want something that's reflective of my mood, which, usually, is tired and excited for the day. The stairs have become a drill too; I start with my right food and end on it too, skipping every other step in between. The beats play with my feet and my fingers on the railing, as if the music puts me in an uncontrollable motion. I can feel the edges of my lips rising, begging to sing along;yet, I remain quite, fearful of waking someone up. Fill the cup with ice, pour hazelnut coffee over it until it's about a centimeter from the top, add whole milk for no more than 6 seconds, add sugar, and mix. The variety in the morning is scarce, so I often end up eating a couple hash browns or cereal. The melody flows with me like a shadow, even though I've left both my bag and my coat in the first booth on the right side. Music is a constant for me; it only ceases when I'm busy with conversation or caught in slumber. The bus is packed, yet I can't hear it's clamor. My favorite songs ring in my ear, and I'm lost in their ever-captivating tunes. I wish to get up and dance; I enjoy the feeling in my gut every time I spin or shift my body in the most elegant way possible. I don't consider myself a professional dancer-or even a dancer, but I love it. I love indulging myself in the sound and allowing my body to move with the music, as if we're partners in a tango. Jumping off the bus- I never step down- I begin my sprint to my class. I enjoy passing other people on my walk; I have a very competitive nature in me. I'll think to myself, "and she passes another; the winner prevails!" I'm sure people wonder why I walk so fast--I mean, I do, trust me. I actually started counting my steps in a given amount of time--the results show that I can walk about two steps per second. Keeping this in mind, I began counting my steps overtime I went to a usual place; I now know it takes me about 180 steps to get to the bus stop; that's approximately 1 min and 30 seconds. If I want to get somewhere faster than my usual time, I turn on upbeat music. Electronic and instrumental-that stuff gets me moving. Depending on how much slush is on the snow, how/how not sore my body is after a night's arduous workout, or how cold it is outside, I can walk around a pace of 3-4 steps per second. I tend to do this before my 8:30a.m. class because walking faster makes me more alert of the beauty of my campus and less alert of the bitter winter. I have my own music preferences and I understand that everyone is different-so I'm not trying to imply that I believe electronic and/or instrumental music is the only type of music that can make someone happy. Instead I'm trying to persuade you, my dear reader, that music is a great thing that should be part of your day. At least one song! I cannot stress it enough; music motivates, music influences emotion, and, most importantly, music adorns time.